


Need You Now

by mchase21



Series: You're My Glue [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mchase21/pseuds/mchase21
Summary: "It's a quarter after one. I'm a little drunk, and I need you now." ~Lady Antebellum~ ~ ~Or Thomas in Paradise remembering just how important Newt is to him.





	Need You Now

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty me writes angsty (but hopefully also beautiful) stories. Enjoy :)

Thomas glanced at his watch. 

1:15AM.

Thomas sighed, rubbing his red, puffy eyes. This was their third night in Paradise, and Thomas had cried himself to sleep for every one of them. The first two nights, Minho and Brenda were with him. They had cried together, sharing their pain and mourning those they had lost. By the end of the third day, the builders had managed to erect enough makeshift shelters for all of them, and so Thomas sat alone in his. 

Not that he minded. When he was with Brenda and Minho, they had talked about Chuck and Alby and Theresa. And Thomas was glad they did. Mourning with them helped ease the pain a bit, since he knew he wasn’t going through it alone. But they had never mentioned Newt, and Thomas was well aware of why. He had never summoned the strength to tell Minho what really happened to Newt, and he wasn’t sure if he ever could. Minho and Newt had been friends for years, surviving together in the Glade, and Thomas didn’t know how Minho would react if he ever found out that Thomas had killed him. So as far as they knew, Newt was alive. He was a crank, but he was alive nonetheless. Thomas’s heart ached when he realized he didn’t know which would have been more reassuring. 

Another wave of sadness hit him as memories of Newt flooded Thomas’s mind. He thought back to the Glade and how confident and charismatic Newt was as second-in-command. He thought about his first night there and how comforting and caring Newt had been, sitting with him and staying up late into the night to console Thomas. He thought about the nickname Newt had given him. _Tommy._ His heart always fluttered a bit whenever Newt called him that. No one else did, and Thomas preferred it that way. That nickname was Newt’s and Newt’s alone.

_The rest of the Gladers were apprehensive about Thomas’s plan, but Newt managed to convince them to give it a chance. Newt rallied them, and he led the fight against the grievers, giving Thomas the opportunity to get through the griever hole and punch in the code. As Thomas watched his friends jump through one by one, he felt a sense of pride at his accomplishment. But that pride quickly turned to despair when he realized that only half of their group had come through. He looked around in a panic, and his fears were confirmed when his gaze landed on Newt’s face. He immediately felt the guilt of leading half of his friends to their deaths creep into and strangle his heart, but Newt had been there for him, saving him from himself._

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut as memories of his last moment with Newt snuck into his mind. He tried desperately to push them away, but they refused to go, instead rooting themselves firmly in his brain, and he succumbed himself to reliving the experience for the hundredth time in three days. 

_Thomas gasped as he saw Newt’s wild eyes staring back at him. To Thomas, those eyes were the worst part. Gone were the lighthearted and shining orbs that hid within them just a spark of mischievousness and defiance. They were replaced with cold, hard spheres that looked without truly seeing, penetrating deep into Thomas’s soul and tearing him apart. Those eyes were the life of Newt, and they had been brutally taken away by the unforgiving Flare._

_Thomas heard Newt screaming at him, begging for his death. He felt Newt grasp his hand, pulling the gun Thomas was holding to his own head and pleading with him to pull the trigger. And when Newt’s eyes cleared for just a second, when Thomas saw the old Newt in those magnificent chocolate-colored orbs one more time, his heart dropped. Because even though those eyes carried with them the same softness and compassion that Thomas remembered, they had none of the strength and determination they once had. Instead they were full of misery and pain, frustration and fear, and Thomas instantly knew that the Flare had broken Newt. It had eaten away at his mind and his sanity, and there was nothing Thomas could do for him anymore._

Thomas covered his ears. He knew what was coming next, and he didn’t want to hear it again. But Newt’s voice sounded in his mind anyway, weak and wavering, forming three little words. _Please, Tommy. Please._ The sound of the gunshot in his mind was drowned out by his heart-wrenching screams, and he collapsed on the floor, his body shaking with sobs as he tried to wash away his pain.

~ ~ ~

When his tears finally subsided, he had curled himself up into a little ball. Minho sat next to him, his hand on Thomas’s back. He had come racing into Thomas’s room when he heard his screams, and one look at Thomas had told him all he needed to know. So he sat by Thomas and consoled the boy, knowing full well the grief he was experiencing.

Thomas had heard Minho come in, of course, but his clouded mind hadn’t yet registered the runner’s presence. Now that he had calmed down a bit, he realized Minho was next to him, and he immediately got up. With a few stammered words, Thomas ran out of the room, and Minho let him go with a sigh. Thomas felt bad about leaving Minho – he knew Minho had only wanted to help – but he had to be alone right now. Minho didn’t know that Newt was gone. Thomas had to mourn him alone.

Thomas was stumbling a little as he made his way toward the forest. Earlier that night, he had snuck into the kitchen and taken a bottle of the moonshine Gally had made. Thomas wasn’t exactly sure how much he had had, but the world was definitely a little unstable as he walked between the shelters. He continued forward when he reached the edge of the forest, venturing further into the darkness. He had no particular destination in mind, but he knew he needed to get away from everything for a while, and so he trudged on.

When he came to the crest of a small hill, his foot caught on an exposed root, and he fell forward with a yelp, tumbling down the gentle slope. He came to a rest at the bottom, and refused to get up. Newt was the one who always picked him up when he fell, and now that he was gone, Thomas couldn’t muster up the energy to get back on his feet. He thought about their time in the Scorch, after they had escaped from WICKED. They had been searching for the Right Arm, but had little information to go on. More than once, Thomas had felt hopeless and lost, especially as the days dragged on and the rest of the Gladers started getting frustrated and hotheaded, blaming Thomas for leading them into a vast wasteland. Newt had been there for him every single time, never letting him give up and keeping the group together no matter what happened. 

Newt had never ceased to amaze Thomas, and he did it again when Thomas realized that throughout the whole ordeal, Newt must have been fighting the effects of the Flare. Thomas had seen what the Flare had done to Newt when they were at the Crank Palace and again when they met for the last time outside Denver, and he was sure that the virus had started attacking his brain long before that. Yet other than the note he gave Thomas when they were first escaping WICKED and his departure to the Crank Palace, he had never indicated that anything was wrong. He had never once complained, never once even brought up what was happening to him on their journey. He had held them together, getting them where they needed to go, even while he himself fell apart. Thomas felt the tears coming again. He wished he had known. He wished he could have helped Newt the way Newt had helped him. He wished he had, at the very least, asked him about it, asked how he was doing. But he hadn’t. 

~ ~ ~

Eventually Thomas got up and started walking again. He noticed a sharp pain shooting up his leg every time his left foot hit the ground. He assumed he injured his ankle when he fell, but otherwise he ignored it. It hurt, yes, but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt inside whenever he thought of Newt, so he continued to limp forward. Ironically, the limp reminded Thomas of Newt.

After a while, he found himself at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Thomas was a little surprised; none of them had known the ocean was close by. He breathed in the salty air and stared at the vast, blue expanse before him. There was a full moon shining overhead that night, casting a silver glow on the scene in front of him. Thomas watched as the lazy waves crashed onto the beach below him and felt a gentle breeze ruffle his hair. 

“I need you, Newt,” Thomas whispered into the wind. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.”

He looked straight down at the beach below him, and his eyes went wide when a memory surfaced. It was a memory from before he was sent into the maze, before the Swipe, one that he thought he’d never see again. 

_He sat at a desk, staring at a computer screen in front of him. There was a boy on the screen, running in the maze. Thomas recognized the blond boy as Newt and noticed that he ran without a limp. The camera followed him as he rounded turn after turn, finally coming to a stop in one of the deepest sections of the maze. Newt stood facing one of the walls that was overgrown with ivy. He glanced back the way he had come with a pained look on his face. Thomas stood, sensing that something was wrong, but not quite sure what._

_Newt’s head dropped, staring at the ground in front of him, as if he were contemplating something. After a brief pause, he walked up to the wall and grasped the ivy with both hands, tugging on it a few times before pulling himself up. Thomas watched as Newt slowly made his way up the wall, unsure of what the boy was doing. Every time the ivy gave a little, Thomas’s heart jumped into his throat, worried that the ivy wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. When Newt had made it halfway up, he stopped. Thomas could see that he was breathing hard and that tears were flowing down his cheeks. Newt looked over his shoulder at the ground far below him, and Thomas froze as he realized what Newt was about to do._

_“No,” he breathed. “No no no no no no. NO.”_

_His eyes were wide as he watched Newt loosen his grip on the ivy. His mind screamed at him to do something, anything to save the boy. But there was nothing he could do but stand there and watch. He watched as Newt wiped away his tears. He watched as Newt closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He watched as Newt let go._

_And he watched as Newt fell._

~ ~ ~

Thomas was back on the edge of the cliff, his eyes filled with fresh tears that threatened to fall at any moment. It was his fault. He had put Newt in the maze. He had caused Newt so much suffering and despair that death seemed like the only viable solution. He was responsible for Newt’s pain and Newt’s limp. Thomas took a shaky breath, before letting out a scream of anger. How unfair the world could be. Newt deserved so much more out of life. He had always given until he had nothing left to give, and then he had always, somehow, found the strength to give just a little bit more. And now he was gone. Yet Thomas, the one responsible for all of Newt’s pain, the one responsible for Newt’s death, was still alive in Paradise. 

Thomas kicked at the ground in frustration, sending several small pebbles over the edge of the cliff. They clattered down for a long time before hitting the sand below. As the silence returned, he heard Newt’s voice in his head, repeating something he had said to him long ago, when they had first escaped the maze and Thomas was feeling responsible for the Gladers who had died.

_They made a choice, Tommy. They knew the risks involved, and they made their own choice. They chose to follow you, to believe in you, to trust that you could get them out. You are not responsible for what happened to them. They died so that we could live, and it’s our job to make sure we don’t bloody waste that._

Thomas tried to convince himself that Newt was no different. He told himself that they were sent into the maze for a reason and that Newt chose his own death over becoming a crank and potentially attacking his friends. But it was no use. He had hurt Newt, and he had pulled that trigger. And no amount of convincing would change those two facts. 

_Don’t bloody waste that._

He didn’t want to. He wanted nothing more than to live out his life happily. Newt would’ve wanted that for him. Newt would’ve wanted him to let go of the past and look ahead to his new life. But Thomas knew, deep down, he would always be haunted by Newt’s fate. He would be haunted by the image of him falling from the wall; haunted by those wild, crazy eyes and the way they cleared just momentarily to show the hopelessness inside; and haunted by those three little words. 

_Please, Tommy. Please._

“Forgive me, Newt,” he whispered. 

And with that, he stepped off the edge.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, feedback, kudos = love <3
> 
> (Though I don't blame you for not loving me after this story. I'm sorry! Editing was literally the worst)
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> Two sequels planned for this story! (I'll compile into a series once both are done)  
> Part 2: [Missing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11249541)  
> Part 3: [Back Together](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11429772/chapters/25609170)


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